


Grief

by megs_and_bacon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9616289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megs_and_bacon/pseuds/megs_and_bacon
Summary: John Watson did not know that one sociopath's life could change him so much. That was until the fall. His death has affected him in so many ways. Read as John Watson goes through the stages of grief to get over the loss of his best friend: Sherlock Holmes.





	1. Denial

So... This is my Sherlock fanfic. I hope you enjoy it. Warning: it is very sad so don't expect some "happy, cute Johnlock romance" or anything.

It is based on the time between "The Reichenbach Fall" and when Sherlock came back in "The Empty Hearse" and is from John's point of view (obviously).

Each chapter is based on one of the five stages of grief. (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.) This means that there will probably only be five chapters. Please leave comments on what I should improve on and what you think. They would really help since I am new to posting stories for others to see. Anyway, enough of this text you probably won't read. Enjoy!

2 Months after the fall: August

John sat in his new flat, no furniture just boxes of his few belongings. This is good. He thought, A fresh start, that's what I need.  
Still, as he sat there all he felt was lonely and empty. He reached for his phone on the table and it immediately went to the number he had gotten used to seeing many times;

Sherlock.

Without thinking, he pressed the call button, his instincts kicking in. It wasn't until four rings that he realized that there would be no answer. Of course, he sighed lightly as loneliness crawled back out of him, like a snake trying to slither slowly out of his throat. Dead men can't answer phones. So, why do I keep calling him? This was not the first time this had happened that day. It was, what? the seventh time? What day is it? He wondered aloud to an empty room.

Sleeplessness and grief blend all the days together in one meaningless blur. He plucked his phone from the table next to him and pressed the button to power it on. Bright white light streamed out of the screen, filling the dark room with iridescent light. His eyes burned as he looked at the blinding screen. The phone blinked the date;

TUESDAY, AUGUST 16

He groaned as he set the phone back on the table. Great, he thought, Another rainy Tuesday.

As he watched the rain flow steadily down the window, he remembered the day exactly two months ago that left him with such torture. The day he lost Sherlock Holmes.

He stood on the sidewalk in front of Saint Bart's hospital, looking up helplessly. He had seen enough to know what this meant. He would do anything to stop it from happening, but instead, he stood there paralyzed in fear and grief. His best friend stood on that rooftop. His only friend. This is it, he thought, the man who taught me so many things and sent me on so many adventures is here on the ledge of this hospital about to do the unthinkable. He couldn't help but wonder why. Why would such an extraordinary person with such a beautiful mind commit suicide? Sherlock Holmes, too. He was anything but modest.

John had learned to live with this fact, just as Sherlock had learned how to live with the war-scarred John who brought along a new girl every week and was not even close to half as smart as himself. It was how they lived, and they both respected each other's quirks, knowing that their life was far from normal. That friendship had led them to go on so many adventures together. So many and now, no more. What would he do with all that time? What would he do without his best friend?

He now still asks that question to himself. John looks out the window to see that it is now the afternoon, around lunchtime. Outside, everyone is going about their normal, happy lives. Little girls skipping through the neighborhood, a young couple going out for lunch in the nearby restaurant. How can they be living so happily while I'm here in a bubble of grief? he wondered. But they were not him. They didn't have his life and his problems. He began to feel jealous, wondering why life isn't so hard for them.He stopped himself. No; I shouldn't be having these cruel thoughts. He grabbed his laptop and started reading through his old blogs, his usual distraction from life.

He read through his first blog titled: A Study in Pink and was filled with stale nostalgia. The first line read:

My Therapist is making me keep a blog. She said that it would help me "adjust to civilian life"  
but I don't understand how it would help. What am I supposed to write if nothing happens to me? So, here we go therapist, I hope this makes you feel better.

John laughed at his past self. That was before Sherlock. The "pre-Sherlock" period where people still thought he could have a normal life, even he believed it. It was not what John Watson was meant for. John Watson was always meant for adventure.

He could have known that when he was in elementary school, always doing crazy things that got him in trouble, or in high school when he decided to join the military as a war nurse . But, John Watson wouldn't truly understand his thirst for adventure until the day he met Sherlock Holmes.

He read on,

I saw my friend Mark Stanford today. We met in medical school. That was the last time I'd seen him, before the war. We talked for a bit, about what our lives are like now, me, trying to get sorted in life and get a place on only an army pension and him, getting used to his new job teaching at Saint Bart's hospital nearby.

John chuckled again, remembering how simple his life was back then. How simple, easy and yet...boring. Not the life for him. He kept reading,

I told Mark about my dilemma, trying to find a place lace in London with little money. He suggested me getting a flat share with somebody nearby. When I tried to explain to him about how nobody would want share a flat with a war veteran without money or a job, he just laughed and said that he knew someone. Shocked that someone like that would exist, I decided to trust him. I hope that this is the right decision and that my new flatmate would be nice. Maybe it was another war veteran just like him. I meet him tomorrow. Wish me luck.

John closed his laptop and rubbed his tired eyes, finally exhausted from the bright screen terrorizing him with old memories. Memories that he could never have again. He looked at the clock, then at the door. He waited, expecting to see the door burst open only to reveal a tired Sherlock covered with blood or in a sheet with another case and set of predicaments. He looked outside only to be greeted with the darkness of the coming night.

He went over to the kitchen. Even though he knew it was mostly empty, he thought he should force himself to put something more filling than tea in his body. After all, now that he was out of Mrs. Hudson's company, there was no one to make sure he was eating properly. Still, it felt good to leave Mrs. Hudson. He needed to move on and stop making his grief turn himself into a useless, selfish blob that is only being a bother to people. After all, he wasn't the only person who knew Sherlock. Other people were grieving too.

He grabbed a pack of his favorite biscuits and sank back down deep into his recliner. The biscuit stared up at him, its circular, golden-brown aura making him long to eat it. That feeling, however, was competing against the abiding hole that he felt in his stomach, the hole that was eating himself up inside. In this new life, he has to face his old problems running off with Sherlock had allowed him to avoid.

"Severe PTSD" He remembered overhearing a phycologist, "He has really bad trust issues and it may take him a long time to adjust to society." Why do they always give things such scarily, specific names? Why can't they simply call it what it is? A monster. The monster that tore and clawed and tore at insides, leaving him feeling restless, anxious, and lonely. If only it were a physical being. If it was a physical being, he could fight it. He could throw punches at it just like he's been doing to solve a lot of problems in his life. Unfortunately, that was not the case. He had to deal with it using different methods, methods he hated.

With the help of Mrs.Hudson, John had been through five psychiatrists and none of them were able to help in the slightest. He knew that Mrs. Hudson was just trying to help but every time he went to a psychiatrist, his experiences were the same, and negative. John remembered one summer day like every other.

He sat impatiently in the waiting room of his third psychiatrist. Feet tapping. Fingers tapping. Nervous energy flowed through John like water in a busy, rushing river. He got this way every time he had to talk about the fall. Afraid. Defensive. He was like a cornered animal. He looked around desperately in search for something that can use up his restless energy.

The office was like every other he had been to. The wall to the left of him was lined with shelves stocked with extraneous medical magazines. In each corner of the room, there were TVs showing golf on mute so not to bother the mental illnesses of the patients. He looked casually at the other people in the room. There were not many people in the room, maybe three or four counting himself. They were all spread out haphazardly throughout the room, no two people next to each other.

He looked over the closest person to his right. Using the skills he had acquired in the time that he spent with Sherlock, he was able to note many things about the man. He would never be as good as Sherlock was, but he could easily observe many of the basics about the man. He looked to be in his seventies, too old to be at a psychologist you would think. I guess crazy doesn't discriminate by age. The little hair that he had left was snow white and pointed straight up on his head, like an angry white cat. He was very obviously shaking, his hands in a constant tremble. His eyes were large and bulging, like one of those toys whose eyes pop out when squeezed.

A woman was on the other side of him who was younger, maybe even a teenager, no older than twenty. She wasn't showing the same symptoms of shaking as the older man but instead was looking around anxiously, like everything in the room, no matter how harmless, wanted to hurt her. She was curled in a little protective ball alert, her knees at her chest.

He compared himself to these individuals. Surely, he wasn't like them. Yet, he was still there, sitting in this quiet room painted a blinding shade of white. He used to be a bright, attractive young man. Where did that go? When did he let his heart take over his mind?

The door to the office creaked open, interrupting his thoughts. It's funny how something can seem louder in his mind than it sounded in reality. "John Watson?" Called a young woman from the doorway. He slowly got up, watching not to injure his leg when he got up, and limped towards the door. His feet hit the floor irregularly as he made his way to the door. The woman gave him a commercial smile and welcomed him into the room. The room was small and predictable. It contained only a bench, a desk, and a chair. A few psychiatry posters hung on the wall as an attempt to and color to a colorless room. The name tag on the psychiatrist revealed her name to be Amelia Whiteson. Amelia walked across the room to the chair and motioned for John to sit down.

"Now," Amelia said,"Let's start at the beginning."

And so it began, half an hour of John telling the story starting at when he met Sherlock and going to the fall.

Amelia sat and listened, occasionally jotting notes in the notebook on her lap. John sat up towards the edge of his seat whenever she did this, leaning in, trying to read what she was writing upside down.

John's focused on making his story only include facts as he knew from experience that any emotion that he may use would only make the situation worse. Amelia pushed him to try to squeeze the emotion out of the strong soldier in front of her.

John explained in what he felt, trying not to reveal all his emotion. He explained every day he still looks forward to the texts Sherlock would send every day. He would stare at his phone every day waiting for the messages that would never come. He would sit in the morning with the paper, waiting for Sherlock to walk down the hallway with a new and exciting adventure for them to run off with.

Even though this was some improvement in trust, John remained reluctant to trust and wanted to stay strong in front of this new person he didn't know very well.

I'm a soldier, he thought, I'm supposed to be strong. I have to stay strong.

This thought controlled him. The thoughts never had a good result. It ruled his everyday thoughts like a dictator destined for chaos.

John only wanted Sherlock to come through the door again, to get to see him one last time. To say goodbye. He would never get that chance again.   
**********************************************************************  
Later that night, he sat in his chair, irrationally watching the door for when Sherlock would come home or at least send him a text.

One hour passed,

No sign.

Two hours,

Still no Sherlock.

The hands of the clock swirled around with every second, the constant ticking driving John mad. Every hour, every minute, every second. It was just a second without his friend. Reluctant to go to his room and be tempted by sleep,   
he sat in the chair in the cold, dark, room preparing for the next sleepless night.


	2. anger

5 months after the fall: November

John woke up in his recliner to crisp November air streamed through the window that was still open from the night before. He checked his phone like always to check what day it was. He groaned when he read that it was thanksgiving. 

After the fall, John decided that he could hold the annual Thanksgiving celebration. It was a yearly tradition with his friends to celebrate the holiday. Even though it was an American celebration, they still celebrated it as a time to talk and enjoy good food. Mrs. Hudsan, predictably, had greatly supported the idea, saying it forced John into social interaction. John had to admit it, he hadn't been out of the house for weeks and it was starting to affect his health. 

His eyes stung from lack of sleep and he was running out of alcohol to combat his lonely mind. He had been spending his day either sitting in his chair doing nothing or pointlessly stalking sluggishly through his empty house, like sleepwalking. 

John walked to his dining room and began setting the table. His mind wandered to the last thanksgiving he spent. He remembered sitting in the living room of 221B, laughing with all of his friends. They were busy playing a game of charades where someone just acted out Anderson as some deranged chimp/ T-rex combo while eating some of the best food John had ever had. John's mom was never the best cook, but Mrs. Hudson's family recipes made up for all the years of bad food. John stuffed bite after bite of stuffing and pumpkin pie into his mouth until he felt about ready to burst. Even Sherlock managed to clear his plate. It must have been the most he had eaten in over a month. 

Sherlock. 

He had been trying to avoid thinking about him. His grief and denial were slowly fading. Fading and turning into something...else. Something that he didn't yet comprehend. Anger.

John woke from his daydream to discover that while he hadn't been paying attention he had set the table all wrong. The silverware were all over the place at random angles. 

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid! He cursed at himself. Stupid! Why did you let your best friend die without doing anything? There must have been something you could have done? These thoughts were like the devil's tongue slipping the message into his ear, and then his mind. Stupid Stupid! He screamed this thought in his head many times, the message growing louder and angrier with every scream. It got so loud that John subconsciously started whispering it aloud to himself. Just like in his head, He started saying the message louder and louder until he was spreading his pain with the whole world around him. Every part of him trembled as he grew hotter and hotter. This thought was the only thing that controlled him. It was the only thought he knew of. 

STUPID STUPID STU...

Ding dong.

He was interrupted by the doorbell. Right, John thought, attempting to steady himself, Guests.  
Taking a deep breath, he jerked the door open like ripping off a band-aid. His shocked eyes met the worried eyes of Mrs. Hudson.

John must have looked like he just saw a ghost. They stayed in that awkward position for a long time, just exchanging looks. Mrs. Hudson looked at John like he had just been diagnosed with the deadliest, incurable disease.

He slowly adjusted his glance to her hands where she was holding a small pie pan. He gently put his hands out grab the pan and Mrs. Hudson hesitated as if she thought that the pan was going to grow teeth and bite his hands. Gently, she placed it in his hands, not taking her eyes off the broken man in front of her.

He looked horrible. The bags under his eyes only got heavier every morning after the nights of little sleep. He had grown stubble that he was too depressed to shave and was starting to grow a small mustache. John placed the plate on the table near the door before turning back to face Mrs. Hudson. Before he could expect it, he was enveloped into a tight hug. She held him tightly against her chest, reluctant to let go, the way a mother would hug their child

Mrs. Hudson had been like a mother to John in many ways. She had openly welcomed john into her home and was always there to look after him and Sherlock when they weren't looking after themselves. She was like the mother he had never had.

John had never been a big fan of hugs. He never liked when anyone was concerned about him. Back when he was little, his family wasn't what you would necessarily call a "hugging family." She was hugging him so tightly, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He silently choked on her strong flowery perfume, trying not to bring attention to his discomfort. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the presence of Mrs. Hudon. After so little human interaction, It felt good to be held by someone else. 

He welcomed her into his house, offering to take her coat and told her to make herself comfortable in the living room. Meanwhile, he busied himself in the kitchen, chopping up pieces of celery and dumping it into a bowl of stuffing. Making thanksgiving dinner was by far not an easy task but John was just happy to have something to take his mind off things. 

The cooked and cooked, Mrs. Hudson helping occasionally. As time passed, the living room filled with people, spreading the noise of casual conversation through the crowded house.

The house itself was a mess. He definitely felt that he bit off more than he could chew. Boxes were stacked everywhere from his reluctance to unpack.

When he first moved in, he felt that if he didn't unpack, the new way of living wouldn't come. In some twisted way, his brain believed that it would bring Sherlock back.

He had recently accepted the fact and began to unpack some materials other than the absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, this was an extremely long and exhausting process.

Why did he agree to do this? he asked himself. He tried to answer himself that it was good for him but the thought was only like a whisper among the many other crazy things that shouted through his brain. Honestly, he had no idea why he was doing it anymore. He was just doing it to do it.

His loud mind chatted on as John worked silently with Mrs. Hudson with the feast. She didn't seem to mind his lack of speech as she worked diligently on preparing some of the vegetables. She hummed under her breath, a tune that John could not recognize.

John attempted to tune out his mind as he listened attentively to her humming. it was calm and motherly, running smoothly from note to note. Time passed minute by minute as more and more people filled the small house. He filled with a sudden embarrassment of the cluttered living area. Random boxes still littered the floor while shelves remained empty. How rude! the voice in his head yelled. He tried to ignore it as he chopped onions into small chunks.

With Mrs. Hudsan's help, the meal was finished in decent time and before long, everyone was squished together trying to fit around the small, oval table in his kitchen. John was about ready to pile food onto his empty plate before Mrs. Hudsan did the thing that John had dreaded since he had first planned the gathering; ask everyone what they were thankful for. The line started with Molly and he was set to be last. 

After a while of the same answers like "This wonderful food and friends" and "My friends and family", It was getting closer to being John's turn. Everyone had obviously been swerving around the elephant in the room. It was a fragile topic that stood in the balance between a nice, relaxing dinner, and chaos. With every answer leading up to his, he was getting more and more nervous. What would he say? What was he thankful for? Certainly not his family. They hadn't been in communication with him since he left to join the military, a choice that they were not entirely proud of. His only real friend had died. That topic was too sensitive, too depressing for the day. He didn't want to ruin everyone else's good day with his troubles. He had already done it enough times. They had helped him so much in the past five months. He needed to move on. He kept lecturing himself to move on and stop being a bother. It sounded great in theory but there was one problem...he couldn't. For some reason, he couldn't get over life without...

JOHN

He looked up to discover that while he had been stuck in his mind, all the people ahead of him had taken their turn and all of their eyes had turned anxiously towards him. He took a deep breath as he struggled to think of what to say. Possible thoughts gradually came into his brain through quiet whispers. Home. Food. Friends who had helped him through this rough time. The great ideas were unfortunately pushed to the back of his mind by the negative ideas that overshadowed them, shouting over any other thoughts. The negative thoughts were the same thoughts that had been clawing at his mind since the accident. 

Why didn't you do anything? It's all your fault. You could've done so much more. Could've been such a better friend to that sociopath that everyone else had been so quick to avoid. You're such a bad friend! More than that! You are such a bad person! How could you let this happen? Why do you have to ruin everything? 

Suddenly, as he looked at the table of people staring at him, the food on the table way past getting cold, new thoughts filled his mind. They got calm for a moment. The calm in the eye of the storm. 

No, He thought, How could it be my fault? I did everything I could! I even lived in a flat with that sociopath! I was the best friends I could be. I was there for him, even on the day of the accident. 

That's when the thoughts turned from calm to anger. It was anger beyond anything John had ever felt before. 

The accident! Why would Sherlock do something like that? Betray the friend that had always been there for him. The fragile, dangerous man that could not easily last long without someone to balance his need for danger and adventure. 

John had always been an angry bomb ticking down the minutes leading to the explosion. Now, without anything to take out his anger, minutes had turned to seconds. The explosion had, unfortunately, landed on Thanksgiving. With all of the remaining people close to him around him, the bomb went off. At that moment, John Watson exploded. 

His thoughts had finally clawed himself out of his mind after being trapped I the cage for months. His anger streamed out in angry blasts as it made its way through the room and all the people in it. He talked about just about everyone in the room, explaining how they had always been there for Sherlock in some way and how he had selfishly left them. He shouted his anger not stopping for anything. The only thing he could think about was yelling. Shouting for all to hear and share in his anger. 

After a long rant as people exchanged annoyed glances, all of John's anger was finally gone along with his voice. His voice strained as he ended his speech with a hurt conclusion. 

"This is why I can't say I am thankful for anything." He croaked, tears burning as they made their way up his throat like acid. "I'm sorry I wasted all your time today." John tried to ignore the exasperated faces as he stormed out of the room. He knocked over his chair in the process but didn't notice through the anger in his veins. 

John stormed out the front porch. Without the Anger he had had in him for months, he felt empty. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Just loneliness. He just someone to be there on the doorstep with him, telling him everything would be fine. He knew that would never happen. He remembered their faces.The people around the table. They had delt with him for so long, why should they have to keep caring a depressed john? They had done their duty. 

After the meal that John refused to eat, he watched as everyone got into their cars and left. They were returning to their everyday lives. It must be nice. thought John, Normal life. What is normal? John didn't even know. 

All the cars were gone except for one as john sat alone, watching the sunset, preparing for a new night. John recognized the car immediately as Molly Hooper's. A small pink gerbil car with multiple bobbles hanging from the mirror in the car. What is she still doing here? 

Molly had always been there for him. Maybe it was her random connection to sociopaths that connected to John and his need for adventure. He remembered helping her through her strong crush on Sherlock, giving her hints on how to talk to the almost heartless sociopath. She had always made john feel welcome when Sherlock often forgot. They had even gone out for dinner occasionally, talking about their lives before and with Sherlock. They held a special friendship that John could always hold onto when things got rough. With his selfishness, John had somehow forgotten about Molly. She must be upset about losing Sherlock, especially now that John knew how she felt towards him. It was unfortunate that John was the only one who will ever know about it. John will never know. 

John heard a door shut and turned to see Molly standing shyly at the front door. He welcomed her out with a gesture and made room as she sat on the step next to him. He looked down at her hands. Upon observation, they were wrinkles and dry. She had stayed late doing all the dishes for him. 

After a while of sitting awkwardly without conversation, John started bravely at the sky. He spoke in a soft voice as if he might say something wrong. 

"I'm sorry I've been so selfish about this. You must be struggling with this too. You didn't get to tell him, did you?" He asked, finally trying to think about someone else, someone who was always there for him. 

"It's alright," she answered, her words coming out quickly. "I know you two were pretty close. And no I didn't tell him." She avoided eye contact and John tell that she was hiding something. She had never been the best liar. John was tempted to pry but instead, he went easy on her, knowing it wasn't easy losing someone you love. 

"This will be a thanksgiving to remember won't it?" said john, sarcastically. They both laughed before turning their attention back to the view.

Molly and John spent the rest of the afternoon in meaningful silence as they watched the sunset as the day turned to night. It was a new beginning but John still had a long way to go.

 

Hi, guys! I didn't mean to make it sound like a budding ship but...It just happened. lol! I don't know if anyone's actually reading this but if you are, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry It took me so long to update, I've been busy. Please leave a comment about the story and what I need to improve on. It would really help me. 

Thanks, Megan


	3. Bargaining

A year after the fall. July

It had been a good few months since the Thanksgiving incident and yet John still felt empty all feeling was gone, whether negative or positive, was gone. Without anger to fill the empty void it didn't take john long to go back to the unstoppable force of drugs and alcohol.

His house became a landfill of empty beer and pill bottles. The pain relievers did nothing to help the emotional pain of empty loneliness. Instead, the modes of relaxation only caused his arms to shake and his mind to spin wild. John thought back to Sherlock. How had he been able to handle it? John had always known that behind his strong, soldier personality, he was easy to drink away. Sherlock was different. He could handle drugs. The dosage that caused John to shake like a leaf nearly caused a tremble from the detective. But it wasn't always this way. John was a doctor. He certainly knew how to tell the signs of an overdose. There were definitely times when even the brilliant detective could not hide his shaking hands and distant looks as his mind drifted off into a sea of nothingness. John kept the wall of silence between them, choosing to keep his words unsaid. Sherlock knew what he wanted to say and saying them aloud would make no difference. 

To everyone else, he claimed false facts. He claimed that it was for intellectual reasons. It's funny, thought John, Sherlock uses it to get in his mind and I use to get out of my mind. Even though he would claim that he's fine, John could see through the lies like nobody else could. After all, they lived in the same flat. There was not much room to hide.

Mycroft, being his brother, saw through the lies as well. He had always put John in charge of watching over his sociopathic brother. It was a difficult task that John apparently couldn't handle. He was surprised Mycroft didn't seem mad at him for letting his brother. The man of stone didn't seem to show any emotion to his brother's death at all. Even he would have to have some emotion Thought John, Even if he's too afraid to show it. No one is emotionless. 

John often wondered what caused Sherlock and Mycroft to be so emotionless. There had to be something from their past...something from their childhood...Bling 

The notification startled him out of his drugged world and into harsh reality. He checked his idle phone and was surprised to see that the text alert was from Molly. He rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the constant spinning of the room, and read the text aloud.

John found someone I would like for you to meet. Coming over in ten. Don't worry about cleaning up. see you then <3 Molly. 

John rubbed his tired eyes and let out a long groan. He was not ready for a visitor, let alone a complete stranger. Even though Molly said he didn't have to clean up, he did anyway. It wasn't much but it was the most he had done in days. He picked up all the bottles and other assorted rubbish and threw them in the bin before heading up to take a shower. John turned on the shower, the warm water dribbling down his cold back. He stood there a while, just enjoying the feel of the warm water coursing through him. It had been had been a while since he took a shower it felt amazing. 

He reached for the soap and sighed. It was almost empty. Squeezing the last drop into his palm and running it through his hair, he thought about his situation. 

I can't keep doing this. 

Ever since he quit his job after the fall, his rent and groceries had been paid by his insurance with help from Mrs. Hudson. Now, a year later, His insurance was starting to run out and Mrs. Hudson (even though surprisingly well off) didn't have a neverending budget to use on her depressed friend. He needed a job and soon. 

wow, John thought as he dried off and shrugged on pants and a jumper, a year since the fall. And I'm still here. Why am I still here? Still in this empty house. Still in this endless loop of grief. When would it end? It has to end. I have to end it. I have to move on with life. But how do I do that if all I want is to get my old life back?

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Is Molly here already? He checked his phone, 12:30. Ten minutes. Still mostly out of it but with help from the shower, John hobbled down the stairs, trying to slip on his other sock on the way, and answered the door. Molly's kind smile greeted him. He looked around her and didn't see anyone else. "I thought you were bringing a visitor." he had to force the words out as every word sent pain up his throat. "I'm going to bring you to her in a bit." She said stepping inside his still messy house. Every step seemed cautious like she was approaching a wounded "I have to check something first." She slowly stepped toward John like a cat about to pounce. "What do you need to check?" asked John. He already knew the answer and was just stalling as he prepared to run. Just arms lengths away, she said it. 

"You"

John turned swiftly around and ran up the stairs, trying to get far away from the mortician as possible. He stood at the stairs and looked down at Molly, like a kid trying to escape the wrath of a mom desperate for help with chores. 

"I don't need a doctor," he called down the stairs. "I am a doctor!" 

Her voice full of concern, Molly replied.

"I'm just trying to help you."

The sympathy didn't warm the cold hearted John. Just replied with a voice just as stone cold as before.

"The best way for you to help me is to go away."

Hurt, Molly swallowed the lump in her throat and opened her mouth to continue but John kept going.

"I don't help. I'm fine."

Holding back tears, Molly's voice came in a soft murmur. 

"We both know that's not true." 

Pleased to see thatJohn was softening, She continued,

"You can't keep going on like this, in this cycle of despair. You know this."

She leaned down and picked up an empty pill bottle that John had forgotten to pick up. She read her face filling simultaneously with anger and concern. John swallowed as Molly began to speak again. 

"This won't help you. It will just make it worse. Keep going like this and you'll be dead in a month, maybe weeks. You know this. Why?"

John looked at his feet as he mumbled his response.

"I want to die."

The tears she had desperately been trying were finally coming out, whether she liked it or not. She tried to steady herself, breathing deeply before she continued. It didn't work. She held the bottle in the up for John to see.

"This, this will cause a painful death. You'll die with the belief that things will never get better." Tears fell down her cheek as she continued. "If you choose to do this, know that I will be with you. You will die alone."

John looked at her, the weight of the situation finally hitting him.

"Or, you can choose to go with me with the chance that things will get better. You are an amazing man and I can not stand seeing you die like this. Make a choice." She held out her hand. John slowly walked down the stairs and took Molly's hand as they walked to her car.

They drove in silence, both recovering from their recent conversation. John kept his head down, not ready to start any conversation. It wasn't until the tall building of Saint Barts appeared looming over him that he lifted his head. He hadn't seen the hospital since the accident and just it's presence sent him into a spiral of bad visions and memories. He shook his head, trying to clear the visions that were flashing before his eyes. Molly met his glance for only a second, her eyebrows curved into their permanent concerned position, before she looked back at the road, choosing to keep the awkward situation unsaid.

It wasn't long until the pair were walking across the parking lot, the sun burning Johns eyes that had grown accustomed to the darkness of his house. Molly held his hand, pulling him towards the door and help him walk where the drugs caused him to stumble. Molly led him through the winding halls of the hospital. He kept his head down, trying to avoid the stares of the people around him. People who knew who he was and people who had never seen him before turned to him, their eyes burning into him like hot lava. Embarrassed and ashamed, he continued on. He was relieved when they finally got to the mortuary and Molly slid her ID into the door. 

Molly's tests didn't take long but even the minutes of testing felt long to John. He knew he would fail all of them. How would Molly respond? He was ashamed that he had to go out in public at the state he was in. All he wanted was to go back home where he could be in his safe cave of solitude. Still, he took all the tests and sat waiting impatiently, as Molly calculated the data. 

Her hands worked diligently as she went from one test tube to the next. The more he looked at her the more he regretted. Seeing her just reminded him that she never got a chance with Sherlock. She always fell for psychos and sociopaths. They would have made a great couple. thought John as he watched her work, her golden brown shimmering in the light of the sunlit room. Molly turned to look at him and John quickly glanced down, realizing he was staring. 

After another moment of stiff silence, Molly opened her mouth to speak. Her expression was shocked and angry. Even though her mouth was ready to speak, no words came out. Instead, she slowly approached John, her expression becoming more and more angry with every step. Then, when she was only inches away, she slapped him. 

Hard.

Pain bite his cheek as he struggled to keep his balance from the surprisingly hard blow. He looked up at her in a state of shock. He had never thought of Molly this way. She had always been the quiet and sweet girl who never spoke up against anyone and fell only for guys who didn't deserve her. Before he could speak Molly who had retreated a few steps backward, approached him again. John stepped back, trying to defend himself from another possible blow. Before he could escape, she enveloped him in a tight hug. She could feel as she slowly relaxed and melted into him, holding him tightly like he might escape. John melted too. This was the most human interaction he had had since Thanksgiving and honestly, he needed it. John knew that he would never have feelings for Molly. She wasn't his type. He knew that one day, she'd find a guy who could show her the love that she deserves, even if it's not Sherlock. 

After a while of hugging, Molly turned her head towards John's ear. In a soft voice, she whispered, "Don't ever do that to me again." In that moment, John decided to stop. Stop the drugs. Stop the alcohol. Stop the self-pity. He was hurting others, just because his friend died. That wasn't right. He promised himself that if he thought about using one of these methods as a way out of his troubles. 

With that, they pulled away. Restrained, they headed out the way they came and went into Molly's pink car. After driving a while, they came to a small waffle house Neither of them had had a breakfast that day. John ordered a large order of pancakes his hunger biting at his empty stomach and relaxed in the booth.

A few minutes later, they were indulging in delicious carb filled, syrup drenched delights. They were like kids again, breakfast barely visible under the lakes of sweet, caramel syrup. Stuffing food in their mouths, they looked up at each other. A silent staring was interrupted by their breaking into laughter. They looked stupid but neither of them cared. For once no one was there to judge them. Everyone needs some childish bliss in their lives every so often to escape the darkness of adult life. They sat in the booth, laughing harder than John had in months, maybe a year. He had lost track of time. John thought about how Molly might have been as a child. He imagined an animated little girl skipping across a glistening green lawn, her pigtails whipping after her. 

What made people serious? What took away the radiant joy present on their bright little faces? Why couldn't that continue on to the future? 

Just as he thought that Molly whipped her face and the table around her with the restaurant napkin before clearing her throat and studying her lap instead. John followed suit, feeling eyes on him. They ate in silence for the rest of the time in the restaurant then walked back through the parking lot, sun beating down on their backs. 

"So..." started John as he strapped himself into the pink Honda, "You said you were going to take me to see someone?" Molly nodded next to him as she buckled her seatbelt and started the car. "So where are we going? Who do you want me to meet?" 

Molly chuckled. He sounded like an excited little child. "You'll see," she replied with a smile as she pulled out of the parking lot, "John, it's about time you got a job." 

Hey, guys! Thank you so much for reading. I'm sorry if this took a while. I can't thank you guys enough for reading this. Now that I am posting this on different sites, tons of people are reading it. If you guys could please continue to comment with advice for the future, it would mean a lot. I hope you guys enjoyed the Molly slap because I loved writing it. It's probably the most fun I've had writing a scene. Thank you all for reading!


	4. depression

Hey before I start the chapter, I want to say that I wouldn't have enough inspiration to write this chapter if I didn't listen to the song Goner by Twenty One Pilots on repeat. If you want some music to listen to as you read I would recommend that. (Plus Twenty One Pilots is one of my favorite bands. |-/) Okay, I won't rant. Enjoy frens.

 

Summer was ending and the warmth of the sun was already beginning to be replaced with the chill of September. John was alone again. He was not totally alone, though. Now He had a purpose. He forced himself from his warm bed and started to get ready. John was so thankful for Molly. If it wasn't for her help, he would be living on the street by now. John remembered the moment as if it was yesterday. After they had finished eating at the dinner, Molly and John sat in the pink car, sun beating down on their necks. When she mentioned a possible job at a nearby clinic, John was filled with both awe and confusion. 

He wanted a Job more than anything. It was something to do. Something to keep his mind off of the nightmares that continued at day. he could focus instead on something good. Something that could help people. If there was a chance for him to have that, he would trip over his own feet trying to get there. There was one thing that still puzzled John. How did she manage to get this good of a job for me? Even if he was good at the job, no one would want someone in his condition caring for them. Plus, after all of the positive and negative media attention from him working with Sherlock, no one would care to hire him. Somehow Molly had gotten him a job as a physician there and they gladly accepted him. 

Back in the present, John put on his shoes and patiently waited for Molly to come and drive him to work. John didn't have a car and the small clinic was on the way for her so it worked. So far, the job had been great. Anything to take his mind off things and keep him busy. Even the new distraction, however, didn't keep his mind from drifting back to depressing thoughts. The visits from his old friends were becoming fewer and fewer. Outside, rain poured steadily, a constant ping against the utter silence. 

honk

John looked outside to see Molly outside in her car. Still distracted, he swung a coat over his cold shoulders and ran out into the rain. The ride was spent in delicate silence. The pair hadn't talked much since she had visited him months before. When they did talk on the car rides, it was always small talk. John hated small talk. 

In the silence, john looked outside and traced the raindrops that dripped down the window sill. It was something he always had done as a child to pass the time and was one of the few childish acts that he allowed himself to carry through adulthood. While his parents would talk often argue in the front seat, John would race the crystal raindrops, pretending like nothing else existed. That was when he was little. That was before he grew up and had to face his problems head first. The car came to a stop by the entrance of the hospital. "Like now." he mumbled under his breath.

He made his way towards the building in front of him. The rain had only slightly slowed down but John didn't mind. He enjoyed the feel of the cool refreshing drops landing on his head. John entered, making sure to keep his head down. He figured if he didn't look at people, they wouldn't look at him. He knew that he couldn't be a good friend to anyone so he didn't want anyone to be a good friend to him. 

That being said he was growing incredibly lonely. His head was split into two parts. The dark part that said that no one would be his friend and he didn't need one. The light side said that he needs friends to survive.The dark part always took over. John knew deep down that the dark part wasn't him. He was never like that. It was like a monster climbed into his mind and took over and could not be beaten by the power of the light.

He only looked up when he saw the safety of his office. He closed the door and sighed in relief.He made it. No interaction. Alone. Alone was the only way he felt truly safe. Safe but utterly lonesome. He took a deep breath as he sat down at his small desk that was shoved into the corner and prepared for the day. The paper on his desk informed him that he had at least five patients scheduled before lunch. A lunch where he had agreed to meet up with Mycroft. This is going to be a long day. 

Lunches with Mycroft had been a common thing since the fall and john dreaded it. Every month they would go to a restaurant as an attempt to "catch up." It always felt so forced. He could tell Mycroft wasn't doing it because he wanted to. He was only doing it because he felt that he had to. John, on the other hand, never wanted to talk. He just wanted to hold it all in. 

He rolled his office chair and began to sort through his normal morning papers. He thought looking at the papers would distract him, engage himself until he slid back into the dark shadows of his mind. He looked at the papers and noticed all words jumble into a black inky mess, swirling together like an optical illusion. He swerved away from the desk and rubbed his heavy eyes. Great, he thought, Now I'm officially going insane. Might as well send me to a mental hospital. That's where I belong. 

The shadows screamed back at him in agreement.

Freak

Not able to stand the desk any longer, John sat down on the patients' bed in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. He just wanted to escape. Escape the sleepless night. Escape the loop he was living in, every day just as depressing as the last. Sitting in the middle of the room, he drifted off. He hadn't slept in so long that he was desperate for any rest. 

He began to fall under the taunting spell of sleep. 

Just for a few minutes...

he told himself,

Just for a little.... 

________________________________________________________________________________

John!

John awoke, startled by the sound of his name. How long had he been asleep? He rubbed his eyes and looked around desperately for the cause of the shout. He turned toward the door to see a young woman, her blond hair cut short and curled, barely long enough to curl under her ears. Even though her badge displayed she was a nurse, John couldn't remember seeing her at the hospital before. Maybe she's new. Thought John. Still, there was something odd about her. something...off. Her eyebrows arched in concern.

"Are you okay?" John glanced down realizing he was staring and cleared his throat before he spoke. 

"Uhh... Yeah. At least I think so. Umm..How long have I been asleep." The woman chuckled, a smile lighting up her face. 

"A while. I was starting to worry. People had started to place bets on how long you would be out." John sighed before rubbing his eyes again. He looked at her again and realized he was being rude. "What's your name?"

The woman turned around. "I'm sorry." She stated hurriedly, desperate to leave. "I really have to go."

John called after her. "Hey come back. I just want to know your name." 

But the mysterious woman was already long gone.

________________________________________________________________________________

john's day was filled with appointment after appointment to clear his busy mind. There was one thing He could not let out his head.

Who is she?

She was just a nurse but something about her made her...different. She was intriguing. With just one glance John could tell she was different than all the other nurses. She was different than anyone else he had seen in the past few months. She ran off beat from the constant drone of everyday life. John felt a constant urge to know her, without knowing how to. He looked at the clock. It was 12:15 and he was supposed to meet Mycroft at 12:30. John quickly packed up his stuff and rushed out the door, the un-named woman still on his mind. 

One of Mycroft's government cars was already waiting for him when he walked out into the sparse parking lot. As he approached, a man in a fitted tux got out to hold the door for him. John rolled his eyes as he sank into the plush seats. John hated when Mycroft did this. He wished they could have just met normally instead of Mycroft shoving his wealth in john's face. 

He remembered the first time he met Mycroft. He had a car take John to an empty warehouse where he was questioned furiously on his working with Sherlock. John had at first thought that he was simply an enemy of Sherlock. It wasn't till after he had helped solve his first case that he found out otherwise. Mycroft had always seemed like an annoying snob and today was not any different. 

The car dropped John off right at the door of the small deli. When he opened the door, Mycroft was already there waiting. He had spread papers out on the table and was working on some government work. Upon seeing John, he neatly piled the papers and packed them up before regarding John. 

"Ah. Right on time Mr. Watson." he greeted John. 

John stood awkwardly before responding, "Please, It's John." 

He had told Mycroft this many times but Mycroft still managed to greet him formally instead. Too formally. Maybe he's just doing it to annoy me. Thought John pulling off his jacket. 

"Apologies."Said Mycroft indifferently. " Please. Have a seat." John struggled not to roll his eyes as he took a seat across from him. John cleared his throat, trying to fill the silence that surrounded them. After they were comfortable and had ordered drinks, Mycroft began the tedious conversation. 

"So, I have been tracking you for the last few months..."

"Oh Yeah? Did you find out anything interesting or while you stalked me?" John cleared his throat again, clearly annoyed at the invasion of privacy.

"John. I'm serious. I know you don't like doing this and trust me, I don't either, but I'm just trying to protect you."

"Why?" Started John again. "I think I'm fully capable of protecting myself, thank you very much." He grabbed his coat and made his way towards the door. 

"I think we both know that is not true." 

John stopped frozen in time. He turned around again to face Mycroft. Mycroft continued into dangerous territory. 

"Over this time, I have records that over the last month, you have been admitted to the hospital three times. Two from drugs, one from alchohol poisining. By this point in grieving you should be reaching a point of extreme depression. Even if you don't show it, you are falling apart both mentally and physically. I know you're trying to hide it but, one may wonder when you are going to give up the whole soldier facade and actually show your feelings in a way other than anger."

John approached him slowly, full of anger. 

"Your anger towards me right now just proves my point. If you keep isolating yourself, It's only going to get worse so tell me, since the last time we met, have you met someone yet."

John thought of this morning. The mysterious woman with golden hair and eyes that carved into him and made him want to know everything about her. Who was she? She wasn't like others. She didn't judge him. She didn't ask him about Sherlock. She just...talked to him. Her smile warming everything inside of him. 

Was he in love? 

"No." 

John walked out of the restaurant. He never went to a lunch with Mycroft again. 

 

Hey, guys. Sorry, it took me so long to finish this chapter. I was busy and had really bad writer's block. I promise the other chapters will be a bit better. What do you guys think about the new character? Please comment it helps me a lot. I've been thinking of writing a fanfic in a similar style for Supernatural. Please leave a comment to let me know if you are interested in reading that. Thank you guys so much for reading! Bye!


	5. Acceptance: Part one

Note: I'm sorry if this chapter sounds really cheesy. I've never actually been in a relationship so I'm writing it with only the experiences of other people, T.V, and books. I'm breaking this chapter into two parts because I kind of like the ending spot and I don't have many more chapters to write. Enjoy!

 

December-

John buttoned up his new shirt. Today was the day. Today was the day he was going to ask out Mary Morstan. After weeks listening to office rumors, he had finally gotten her name. It had been an inside joke between them since they met. He would ask her and she would just laugh before refusing him of the honor. John had to rely on the chatting of two other girls by the desk to mention her. When he had told Mary the news, she looked shocked but then laughed, replying, "Well. You're a sneaky little spy, aren't you!"

Why didn't she just tell me her name? John wondered. But he was too afraid to ask and always shied away. 

She didn't seem to have too many close at the clinic and neither did John so they often ate lunch together. Their conversations had been boring and mainly about people around the office. John hadn't yet built up the nerve to talk to her about his life just over a year ago. Mary was a hard egg to crack. She didn't seem interested in talking about herself. Still, they enjoyed their time together. 

Lunch with Mary was by far the best part of his day. It meant a lot to have someone to talk to. Someone to acknowledge him. Someone to look at him as something other than a freak. People seemed to treat her a bit weird as well. She did kind of pop up out of nowhere. Mary was not a freak. Not to John.

John got into his new car, a small silver Toyota, and started the engine. He was happy he had finally saved up enough money to support himself as well as splurge on a car. He ran his hands through his hair, the nerves getting to him. He tried turning on the radio but that didn't help. John rode in silence to the clinic with only his thoughts to accompany him. 

When he walked into the building, John was too apprehensive to give eye contact. Instead, he walked with his head down, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his legs. Although he was mainly nervous, he felt one emotion he had not truly felt since the accident. John Watson felt hope.

He got to his office and closed the door, pacing the room as he practiced the situation he had repeated so many times in his head. He would have asked her out a long time ago if only Mary wasn't so beautiful. Right when he thought he was prepared to do it and he had everything he wanted to say planned out, he was so stunned by her that his words stayed stuck to his tongue, forcing only indissociable mumbles to come out. Mary would laugh it off but John would still leave embarrassed. 

Back in reality, John struggled to gather his thoughts as he planned out the conversation. He couldn't seem to put the thoughts into sentences that were not gibberish. 

"Mary, I was wondering if you...I mean we... ugh! Dang it!" 

"Hey Mary, do you want to...Ugh!"

"Hey Mary, I was wondering, are you free on Tues...I mean Friday... Ugh!"

After half the day of practicing this aloud and in his head without progress, he decided he was going to wing it. Maybe this just made it worse. He just needed to tell her how he felt but how could he do that without messing up and rambling like an idiot?

As the hours leading to his lunch break winded down, John's mind was not on his appointments. He was pretty sure he gave three people the wrong medicine and misdiagnosed a few broken bones as sprains. The more hours that passed, the more butterflies he felt fluttering around in his empty stomach. 

When the final patient before lunch left, John was all nerves. He closed the door and sat down, tapping his foot restlessly as he checked his appearance in the reflective screen of his open laptop. She is coming.

John could hear her footsteps and everytime her heels clicked on the tile floor, his heart pounded louder in his chest. John struggled to calm himself down.

Come on. he told himself. It's only a girl. She's not going to hurt you...hopefully. Come on John. You've done so many scarier things. You solved crimes with Sherlock for years, putting yourself in danger almost every day. You fought in a war for peat's sake! Guns shot at you from all around. This isn't that bad. I'm ready.

Mary knocked on the door, proving the last thought wrong. John was definitely not ready. "Here goes nothing," he mumbled under his breath. He opened the door in one swift pull, like tearing off a band-aid. At his first glance of her, all of his breath was gone. 

She was wearing a black and white striped sweater with black pants. A long red coat matched her bright red heels. She was gorgeous.

John cleared his throat, attempting to talk and break the tension. When he opened his mouth, however, no words seemed to come out. She looked at him, trying to get to speak. John stood speechless, desperately trying to be cool. Mary laughed a bit, realizing how nervous he was. Her laugh, however, did little to ease the tension as he grew red hot from embarrassment. 

"So," began Mary. "You said to meet you here. Here I am." 

John chuckled. Her personality and jokes were calming his nerves. Finally able to relax, he took a deep breath and began the question.

Here it goes.

"So. I don't really know how to say this. I haven't really done this before. Well, I have but not with anyone as beautiful as you are and..." 

John stopped looking at Mary. He could tell that she knew what he was going to say. She just enjoyed watching him. Her eyes bore into him, eagerly waiting for John to finish. They were the one part of Mary that remained childish. They said that eyes stare into your soul but Mary's stared into his heart. 

John shook the thoughts from his head and swallowed before continuing. 

"Mary Morstan. Would you go out with me?"

John watched as Mary's face suddenly lit up, a smile taking up her face and warming his heart.

"Yes!"

John stumbled back in his office and grabbed his coat. Mary followed him confused. 

"wait you mean like now?" She said with a laugh. 

"That was my plan," said John. "I have a very special place in mind. Mary, it's time I told you the truth about me."

Well, that was part one of acceptance. What do you guys think? I can't believe I am already almost done with this fanfic. It is so much fun to write and I really thank and acknowledge the people who are reading it and especially the people who left comments. Even if it is just a few people, it really encourages me to write it. Don't worry, I'm not done yet. After the part two for acceptance, I am going to have an epilogue to tie things up. I have been spending such a long time on this fanfic that I don't know what to write next. If anyone has any suggestions, you can leave them in the comments. Would you guys like me to do a Supernatural version of this idea? If you would, please leave a comment letting me know. Thanks!


	6. acceptance:part two

Hey, guys. I'm sorry that I never post on a regular schedule. I'm always busy and some chapters take more time than others. My band went to Disney for four days so I wasn't writing too much before because I was nervous and focused my energy on the trip. I couldn't write while I was there either because I was super tired. I gave you guy a very long chapter so I hope that you guys enjoy. This chapter is basically John explaining the Reichenbach Fall to Mary. Enjoy!

John seemed to be getting more and more nervous the closer he got to the cafe. The closer they were to the cafe, the closer they were to his past. John parked on the edge of the street since the small sidewalk building didn't have many decent parking spots. His heart dipped as he saw the landscape ahead.He stared vacantly up at the nearby flats. HIs mind wandered to everything he and Sherlock did there. They had solved so many crimes, saved so many lives. Had. What a sad word. A word that could change a whole situation. A word that could change someone's whole life...

 

"John?" John shook his head like a wet dog, trying to shake back into reality. He turned back to Mary, still startled by her sudden presence. "Are you okay?" asked mary in a voice of controlled worry. John looked down to see that he had been blocking the door. "Yes." lied John with a clear of his throat, "Go ahead in. I'll be there in a moment." Mary hesitated but not for long. Realizing that John wasn't going to move, she went into the cafe, leaving John alone. 

John's eyes watered as his heart pounded harder and faster in his chest. It took all the strength he had not to run. Why didn't he run away? John was reminded of the reason he came in the first place. 

No. thought John, I am not going to live like this anymore. I am done with hiding from my feelings. I'm tired of trying to run from my past. I have a new life now. There is a beautiful girl inside that cafe that wants me. If I'm not going to do it for myself, I'll do it for her. I need to move on. I need to start a new section of my life. 

The expanse of Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Cafe was calm and respectful. Even at lunch hour, the interior of the room felt empty. There were only a few only sparse tables of guests murmuring about mundane topics. John looked around for Mary. He finally found her sitting in a small booth by the window. It was the same place where Sherlock and he had dinner while on their first case together. How ironic. 

"Is this okay?" asked Mary. John Realized that he had been staring vacantly out the window. He shook his head before responding with a simple. "Fine, yeah." He sat in the seat across from Mary and ordered his food. "So." Mary said, breaking the silence, "What did you want to tell me." John slowly started his story. He struggled to hold back tears as he described the man he had went through so much with. After a while, he got into a rhythm and was throwing out new stories like an old story teller. By the time John was on the part of the fall, Mary was sitting at the edge of her seat, excited to hear what was next.

"What?" asked Mary, like a child waiting for their father to finish a bedtime story, "What happens next? I mean, assassins, almost being arrested, John, if I didn't know you, I'd think you were bluffing."

John went on in his story. He talked about how Moriarty was pretending to be Richard Brook. He talked about the struggle to separate the truth from the lies. Except, John never doubted Sherlock.

"Really?" asked Mary, "You never thought that Moriarty was a fake? You never thought for a second that maybe Sherlock Holmes was just crazy?" 

"I could never doubt him," responded John, "Not after all the times he had saved my life."

"Moriarty had taken all this information on Sherlock and twisted it to make him seem like a mad man. Even worse, he wrote it into a book that many people read."

"So, what happened next? What did you do? " asked Mary, now starting to get worried by the new twist in the story. 

John gave a long sigh before he spoke again. "Nothing." He said in a dark tone, "I did nothing. He said he wanted to work alone. Gosh, If I would have done something..." He trailed off, hiding his face in his hands. He pushed his clenched fists against his eyes, trying to keep the tears in. They were already escaping, sliding through the cracks of his fingers and tracing lines down his red cheeks. 

Mary moved to help him but John refused help. He refused to keep crying. He was done crying. He was going to get past this no matter what it takes. Not taking the time to wipe his face, John sat up again and cleared his throat. It was time for the hard part of the story. He promised himself no more tears as he began to tell the last leg of the story. 

John skipped past some details of discussions with Mycroft. He just wanted to get through the rest of the story before he could break. He instead started at the last full conversation he had with Sherlock. 

"We were in Molly's lab." He swallowed back the tears that were threatening escape. "When I walked in, Sherlock was sitting against one of the cabinets. He was bouncing a rubber ball repeatedly against the wall. It was something you would see someone do if they were nervous." John put his hands over his eyes, rubbing his palms across his tired eyes. "The warning signs... I can't believe I didn't do anything."

Before Mary could come to say anything to console him, he pulled his arms down and placed them on the table. His hands forced into tight fists. 

"He began talking to me about the computer key code. He said that if we found it, we could use it to destroy the persona of Richard Brook and bring back Moriarty. He said it was somewhere in the flat." 

John paused realizing that he had been staring at the table. He has been clenching his fists so tight that he carved indents into his palms. He looked up at Mary. She looked as if she was ready to jump up from her chair and hug him. Still, she managed to keep herself under control, trying to relax and move from the edge of her chair. 

"I thought Moriarty must have left it there somewhere when he went to visit Sherlock. I thought we needed more clues so I asked him what he had touched while he was there and if he had written on anything. He said that the only thing he had touched was an apple. I mean how could he do anything with only an apple? It made no sense to me.

" I walked around the room desperately, trying to answer my own question. I began to pace the lab while Sherlock rapped on the keys of his phone. I remember wondering who he could be texting at such a desperate time. I began to get upset thinking he was not taking the situation seriously. 

"We were in the lab for hours, trying to piece together any evidence that could point to the keycode. After some time, I gave into my exhaustion and fell asleep on a nearby bench. I was not asleep for long before I was startled awake by my phone ringing in my pocket. Still half asleep and wondering who could be calling me at this time, I answer the phone. An unfamiliar voice spoke. It was the paramedics. They told me that Mrs. Hudson was shot." 

Mary had moved back towards the edge of her seat, her hand now over her mouth. She was almost as shocked as he had been at the time. She looked like she could cry. John wanted to comfort her but he had to continue. Every time he stopped it made it harder to start up again. He sat back in his seat and forced more words out, trying to return to the emotionless soldier he was in the past. 

"I tried to fill Sherlock in with the little information we got from the paramedics. We both wondered who did it. My best guess was one of the many killers that Sherlock attracted. In such a horrible situation, Sherlock appeared to be unphased. I wondered if he even cared."

John cursed under his breath. 

"I was so mad. I know it was just the emotions getting to me but I should never have taken it out on him. He was going through a lot too. He knew Mrs. Hudson before I did. He didn't show his emotions as much. He told me to go because he was busy. I assumed that it was because he didn't care. He was just trying to work logically and I was thinking too much with my heart. If there's one thing I learned from Sherlock, it's that sometimes you have to separate from your emotions to serve the greater good. I didn't listen. I responded instead with disbelief and anger." 

John shook tears out of his eyes. How could he be so stupid? So selfish? 

The waitress came around and handed them their food. John tried to look as kind as he could as he thanked the young lady but with tears filling up his eyes, he was sure it was an unrealistic act. He pushed his food aside, wondering why he even ordered. He was never hungry anymore. 

Mary picked her sandwich up and took a few small nervous bites. When she realized that John wasn't eating, she put it down and leaned in, waiting for John to continue his story. John wanted her to eat. He didn't want her to suffer because of him. He didn't have the courage to tell her. Instead, he cleared his throat and continued the tale.

" After yelling at him for being what I thought of as an emotionless robot, I left him alone and rushed off to the flat. That taxi drive felt like the longest ten minutes I had ever felt. When I got there, I expected someone to be there. Ambulance? Police? Someone. The sight of the empty street should have made me stop. I should have been suspicious. Instead, full of adrenaline I raced up to the flat. I didn't even have to go up the stairs. Sitting near the top of the stairs sat Mrs. Hudson. Next to her was bald man covered in tattoos on a ladder, drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs. Hudson jumped when she saw me.

"She looked perfectly fine. Confused, I took a step back to analyze the situation. Mrs. Hudsoln ignored my confused face and continued to speak like nothing was wrong. She asked if Sherlock and I had figured out all of the police stuff. I froze. Sherlock. If Mrs. Hudson was ok, then this was a distraction. It was a way to get me away from Sherlock. He was in trouble. "

John cursed under his breath. He spoke to himself in a low voice. 

"I was so stupid. Why did I leave him alone? I knew he was a target. I only made it easy for them. I'm so stupid." 

Clearing his throat, he continued the story.

"I ran as fast as I could and grabbed the closest taxi. I didn't know where to go. He could be anywhere at this point. I went to Saint Barts where we last were. Part of me hoped that he would still be sitting in Molly's lab, bouncing his rubber ball against the cabinet. What I saw when I got there was more tragic than I could ever have imagined."

John paused and took a shaky breath. It took a lot to get this far. Now was the hard part, finishing it. Even in the bright warmth of the restaurant, John was freezing inside and out. Mary was the only thing that was keeping him from freezing. She was the only thing that kept him from letting his anger take over. She was the only reason he had not run out from the restaurant and kept going, without looking back. Mary

Tears were streaming silently down her porcelain face. Her hands were clasped on the table, her fingers struggling not to fidget. John reached forward and took one of her hands. Mary took a shaky breath at first, startled. It didn't take long for her to relax. Her hand was warm and smooth, his cold and worn. As her hand warmed John's, he found his finger tracing it. He traced every finger near every crevice. It was soft and comforting. Now relaxed by Mary's touch, he continued. 

"I was filled with nerves as I got closer to the hospital." 

John swallowed back tears. John squeezed Mary's hand tightly, trying not to let his emotions take over him again. His voice still unsteady, he continued the story.

"As soon as I got out of the car, my phone rang. I answered it to hear Sherlock's voice. His voice was trembling. That's when I knew that something was very wrong. He had never spoken like this before. He usually kept his deep tone no matter what happened. 

Mary rubbed John's hand in a circular pattern. The comfortable motion caused John to relax his grip. 

"He told me to turn around and leave. I wouldn't do that. Still thinking he was in the hospital, I told him I was coming in. I was not going to leave him alone. When he answered, his voice was distraught. He told me to do what he asked. It sounded urgent. Bewildered by the whole situation, I backed up more towards the road. 'where?' I asked him confused. When I had backed up in the road a bit, I heard Sherlock's voice in my ear telling me to stop. Confused, I stopped and called his name into the receiver. Then, he said..."

He gripped Mary's hand again. He was starting to lose his grip and his emotions were starting to show. 

"He told me to look up, that he was on the rooftop. Not knowing what to expect, I looked up. " John took a breath as he struggled to continue.

"There he was, on the edge of the rooftop, the wind blowing his coat back like a cape. I was horrified and confused. He stuttered as he spoke to me. The man who was usually calm sounded so scared. He said 'I can't come down so we'll have to do it like this.' I didn't understand what he meant. Anxiously, I asked him what was going on. He..he said it was an apology. He said it was real. Everything that they said. He said that he made up Moriarty. "

Mary gasped. The hand that wasn't gripping his covered her mouth.

"I didn't believe him. How could he have made up Moriarty after all that I have seen? Sherlock looked down at the ground for a second before he spoke again. His voice was breaking with every word. He said he was a fake. The man I had always seen as so strong and emotionless began to cry."

John's voice broke. he was reliving all his nightmares. Vivid images that usually terrorized his sleep were now taunting his mind in the day. He struggled to keep from losing his mind. He focused on Mary to keep in focus. Mary was real. Mary was listening. He had to continue. For Mary.

For Mary.

"He said that the newspapers were right. He wanted me to tell everyone I know....Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, everyone...he wanted me to tell them that he made up Moriarty. I couldn't believe him. How could he have made up Moriarty?

I told him. I said...'How can make up being that clever?' I asked him about the deductions. That's not something you can make up. I'd seen him. I'd seen all that he could do. He said that nobody could be that clever. I told him that he could. I know he could be that clever. I know..." John's voice faded. "I... I know."

"He chuckled a bit through that and looked down at me. He told me that he researched me the night before and got the information. It was too much. I didn't know what to think. I closed my eyes, trying to sort the details in my mind. No...I told myself. This wasn't real. It wasn't...right. It must be a trick. It..it must be. It must've been."

John looked down at his hand and saw Mary's hand turning bright red from his tight grip. He forced his hand to relax.

"I started towards the hospital entrance. I needed to go to him. I needed to fix this. This could work out. If all the other cases worked out fine then why not this one? Sherlock's voice from the receiver startled me to a stop. He told me I had to stay where I was. I backed up again, afraid that not following his directions might have consequences. He held his arm out to me, frantically telling me to keep my eyes focused on him." 

John closed his eyes and took a breath.

"He said this was his note. He said that's what people usually did. That's when it hit me."

John looked at Mary she seemed to have understood the meaning of those words as well as John did. 

"Stressed and hopeless, I took a breath before returning my voice to the receiver. I was just in time to hear the last words of my best friend."

John had given up trying to hide as tears washed over his face. Noticing John's distress, Mary was now at her feet, wanting to approach John. She soon sat down, realizing that John would not allow it.

His mind replayed the scene like a movie. Each line was in his mind a few minutes before he spoke it. Sherlock's arm reaching out to him as his trembling voice spoke for the last time...

Goodbye John.

"Goodbye John."He said to Mary. He was done. He did it. He was going to let go of Sherlock. He is gone. The past is the past. He spoke the next words mainly for himself. As he looked out the window at the flat building next door, he muttered two words. Two powerful words that he should have said a long time before.

"Goodbye, Sherlock."


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! This is it. The last chapter. To be honest, this is the first time I have ever successfully completed a story. I have never had the motivation to keep writing. Thanks to you guys, I have actually finished a fanfiction and I'm proud of it. *pops party popper* Yay! I know this sounds sappy and fake but it's true. This is the first time I have had an audience read my work and it has been a great experience for me. I owe big thanks to commenters DissapearingKangaroo and Thilbo4Ever along with my family and friends for supporting me through writing this. Enough with the sappy stuff...Let's get started!
> 
> Oh, but first, I have written a Supernatural fanfiction that follows a similar plot with the stages of grief. (Don't judge me. I don't have many ideas! :( ) It takes place in the time after Swan Song and switches point of view between Dean and Cas. It may have some Destiel at the beginning, I haven't decided yet. Anyway...If you are interested in that please check it out. 
> 
> Link:
> 
> Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/415233761-don%27t-you-cry-no-more-denial-dean
> 
> Fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12513295/1/Don-t-You-Cry-No-More
> 
> Archive Of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11068755

*THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DIRECT QUOTES FROM THE EMPTY HEARSE. I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK AND ALL RIGHTS GO TO THE BBC*

2 years Later...John paced nervously across his small bedroom. He walked over to his bedside table and picked up a small box. A ring box. After weeks of stalling, John finally made up his mind. He was completely and utterly in love with Mary Morstan. 

It was time for him to prove that. 

He fiddled wth the small ring as he walked aimlessly around his house. He repeated the procedure he had spent his every waking moment preparing. 

Mary Morstan, Will you Marry me?"

He practiced the phrase over and over until his mind got tired of the six-word phrase. He worded ad reworded it but it never sounded right. He never thought he would be saying those words to anyone. He had given up hope of getting married a long time ago. Even his best relationships never lasted longer than a month. He always did something wrong. He always messed it up. 

He looked at the clock. It was 5:30. He had reserved dinner for six. It was time to get ready. John pulled out his nicest suit and prepared for the night ahead.

It took him about twenty minutes to prepare. His slightly used black suit was slightly wrinkled. It wasn't the best suit but he didn't have much money. It was the best he could do. The tight fabric was much harsher than the soft sweaters he was used to. He already missed the soft, knitted fabric against his skin. Tempted to change, he convinced himself that this is what Mary would want. Mary had never really seen him and a suit and he decided this would be a nice occasion.

John walked to the bathroom and checked himself in the large, metal framed mirror. He used a comb to groom his new mustache. The course brown hair refused to sit flat. Mary likes me more with a mustache thought John. It had taken him weeks to grow the hair to its full potential. He was proud of it. It was yet another sign that he had adjusted to his new life.

He combed hair gel through his hair with his hands, trying to part it perfectly before smoothing it down. After one last check in the mirror and a final spray of cologne, John decided he was ready. He checked his watch.5:45 thought John as he walked out the door, right on time.

John gnawed mindlessly on a hard mint as he got into the car. He found that it helped him to take his mind off his anxiety about the night ahead. The small black box sat in his jacket pocket, barely hidden from view.

On the car ride to Mary's house, he went through his plan multiple times. It would be a traditional proposal. After desert, he will give her a speech before taking out the ring. It was a simple task but John was terrified.

The ride to the restaurant was filled with apprehensive silence. He struggled not to look at Mary. Every time that he stole a glance at her, all the words were taken from him. His brain was wiped of all of its thoughts other than her beauty.

The elegant Italian restaurant was full of talking couples. It was a pricey restaurant and all of the customers were adorned with fancy suits and jewelry. John looked down at his wrinkled suit and suddenly felt underdressed. Mary didn't seem to mind. She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd as the waiter took them to the table.

Even in the cool restaurant, John could feel the sweat already covering the inside of his suit. He sat across from Mary. He couldn't stop looking at the glint of her deep blue eyes. Everything she did made John's heart fill with butterflies. 

Every small detail was perfect in its own way. John loved everything about her. She was beautiful from her smudged eyeliner to her hoop earrings.

A few minutes later, the couple got into enthusiastic conversation. They talked about work and laughed about the different stories involving their coworkers. John shared some of the stories of weird patients he'd had working. Mary's bright laugh filled her face. John loved her laugh. It was expressed through every part of her face. Her cheeks lifted and millions of beautiful wrinkles across her face.

The conversation seized for a few minutes as Mary left to use the bathroom. As soon as she had left, John took a deep breath. He was about to propose and was getting more anxious with every minute. The roar of conversation around him was muffled by his neverending thoughts. He tried to relax before she came back. He knew that it wouldn't be long until his nerves took over. Just as he had started to relax, he was interrupted by his waiter.

It didn't look like the waiter that had seated them earlier. He was a tall man with pale skin and curly dark hair. His icy blue eyes were hidden by obnoxious eggshell glasses. Above his upper lip was a thin, black pencil mustache. He stopped at the table. "Can I help you with anything sir?" asked the waiter. He spoke in a thick French accent. John shook himself out of his dream state and answered him.

"Uh...yeah." replied John looking cluelessly the long list of drinks, "I'm looking for a bottle of champagne. A good one." John wasn't really an expert in champagnes but he wanted to impress Mary and put her in a good mood before he popped the question.

"Hm." responded the waiter as he pointed to some items on the list, "These are excellent vintages."

John looked back at him. That hadn't helped him and he was anxious to order the wine before Mary came back. "That's not really my area." responded John, hoping that he would get his message, "What do you suggest?"

The waiter's long sentences tested John's patience. "Well," he responded, "You cannot possibly go wrong. But if you'd like my personal recommendation... this last one on the list is a favorite of mine. It is, you might, in fact, say... " the waiter swiped his glasses off in one theatrical movement. "like a face from the past."

John looked across the room to see Mary leaving the restroom. Confused by the waiter and nervous to get on with it, John answered. "Great, I'll have that one please." he offered the waiter his menu.

The waiter took it saying, "It is familiar but with a quality of surprise."

John was now starting to get annoyed by his invasive waiter. Mary was almost to the table. Struggling to keep the annoyance out of his tone, he responded simply and quickly."Well.. ah, surprise me."

After a quick, "Certainly endeavoring to, sir." the waiter left. Relieved, John took a deep breath and watched as Mary returned to his seat.

"Now then," said Mary as she shuffled in her seat, "What did you want to ask me?"

John looked down at the wine bottle, trying to stall. "More wine?" he offered, motioning to the bottle."John's stalling didn't work

"No, I'm good with water, thanks." She responded as she took a small sip from her glass.John decided it was now or never. Words jumbled up his mind as he struggled to form sentences.

"So..." He began nervously, "I know we haven't known each other for long."John reprimanded himself in his head. He sounded so stereotypical. Seeing he was nervous, Mary urged him to continue.

John cleared his throat and resumed speaking "As you know, these past few years were not easy..."

Mary sat on the edge of her seat, a smug smile filling her face. She knew.John swallowed "Meeting you was the best thing that could have possibly happened to me"

"I agree." Interrupted Mary with a smug smile. john was not prepared for this."What?" He replied.

"I agree," said Mary overconfidently, "I'm the best thing that could have happened to you." Realizing how she had come off, Mary looked away, her cheeks turning bright pink"Sorry." she apologized.

John stuttered as he tried to get over the unexpected obstacle. Nothing he said made sense. He wanted to say it was okay but he could not form the words. "It's, um..." he struggled, "So, if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um... if you'll see your way to..."

Before he could finish the discombobulated sentence, the irritating waiter interrupted again. He was holding a large bottle of champagne.

"Sir, I think you will find this vintage exceptionally to your liking. It has all the qualities of the old, with some of the colors of the new."

Now John was truly annoyed. How was he ever going to finish now? He struggled to try and get him to leave the couple alone.

"No, sorry, not now. Please," he said shooing him away. He was not getting the message though and continued his rant.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend."

Annoyed, John looked into the eyes of the waiter and prepared to do anything to make him leave. When he looked into the deep icy blue eyes, he stopped.

Something was...familiar. He knew that face... It took him a few minutes of looking at the man's features to realize who he was looking at.

He couldn't believe It. No...No, it couldn't be true. His eyes must be tricking him. In one small minute of realization, John was filled with all the emotions he had stored up for the past few years. Grief, Anger, depression, bargaining. It was all for this one man. This one man that was somehow in front of him.

 

Sherlock Holmes


End file.
